James R. Doty, neurosurgeon and Director of
the Center for Compassion and Altruism Research and Education at Stanford University,
greeted the standing-room only attendees of his Ottawa Writers’ Festival event Mysteries
of the Brain and Secrets of the Heart with
a joke about the weather. Within a few
sentences, he had won over the audience by establishing himself as
approachable, self-effacing, and in possession of a robust sense of humour. These may not be exactly the traits one would
imagine in a world-famous researcher and doctor, but then, Doty is not typical.

“I’m not a writer,” Doty said, waving his
book in the air. Into the Magic Shopis a memoir and a guide to the principles of
mindfulness and their benefit to the human body. A natural storyteller, Doty began his
appearance by chronicling how the book came to be, and how it has been received
since publication; it is being published in 19 languages and has blurbs on it
from the likes of the Dalai Lama and Sri Sri Ravi Shankar. In his work with the Center for Compassion
Research, he has made appearances with these and other spiritual leaders,
psychologists and philosophers: Eckhart Tolle, Thich Nhat Hanh, Amma, Paul
Ekman and Pico Iver to name a few. Not the
crowd you’d imagine surrounding a scientist, but studies validating the
techniques Doty teaches are quickly accumulating.

At Saturday’s event, Doty read from a
portion of the book that tells the tale of one of his surgeries. It was a graphic story, and he warned the
audience before reading that he’s had people faint at events. However, it was also profoundly moving and
almost poetically written; Doty skates on the edge of insights about the
fragility and beauty of humanity throughout the scientific description. He was visibly moved while reading – the
story concerns a 4-year-old boy with a brain tumour – and during pauses every
exhalation of the audience was audible, their spellbound hearts slowing to
anticipate the drama in the moments being described. The story outlines the importance of training
the mind toward calmness, and illustrates the power of a regular practice, for
it is due to this practice that Doty was able to perform a lifesaving maneuver
in surgery for this little boy.

The techniques will be familiar to a
student of mindfulness. Doty described
the practice taught to him by an individual he encountered quite by accident in
his youth: focusing the mind on the present moment, relaxing with the breath,
separating from negative thoughts, practicing self-compassion and acceptance, and
establishing clarity of intention before acting. He also delved lightly into the science
behind this practice, describing how brain function can be shifted through
regular breathing exercises and contemplative practice to habituate toward
decreasing stress hormones, relaxing the body and lowering blood pressure.

Throughout his talk and in answering
questions from the audience, Doty remained positive and thoughtful. He enjoyed many moments of laughter with the
group and radiated evidence of living in the practice that he is
preaching. His studies in his youth and
as a young surgeon convinced him, “True meaning in life has to do with service
to others.” The messages in the book,
which is indeed very well written, and Doty’s techniques to train the mind and
bring about wellness in the body are definitely a show of service.

People often throw around the word “ISIS” with a snarl and extra enunciation, to make sure their disgust for the group is clearly proclaimed. ISIS is known for its online recruitment of young people into terrorist warfare, Western journalist beheadings, foreign suicide bombers, and the general fear the organization has instilled into populations across the globe. I spent my Sunday afternoon listening to Mark Bourrie speak about ISIS: its propagandist recruitment activities, and the reasons we should be concerned about its existence – other than the obvious.

Bourrie started off the event by mentioning that his book, The Killing Game, is not a call to arms against the terrorist faction, or a display of good versus evil. Bourrie stressed that, like so many before us, the people involved in ISIS are simply in pursuit of higher meaning and fulfillment in a world they may feel has wronged them. In a society that is so highly connected online, but so fragmented in our face-to-face and community interactions, ISIS has sprung up as a response to socio-economic underperformance, inequality, and cultures that are fractured in many different ways.

Throughout the event, Bourrie accentuated the relationship between ISIS and Western media. Journalists have a duty to report what is important to its audiences, such as the gruesome killings and territorial warfare that ISIS carries out in the Middle East. But, when ISIS thrives on the fear and glory that is magnified with publicity, where should the media draw the line between public information and spreading propaganda? Further still, when the media chooses not to disseminate knowledge of horrific violent acts, is this censorship?

The discussion at the event turned political at times, with Bourrie reminding us that the United States is successful at killing ISIS figureheads and fighters within the group who are the most useful as recruiters of young men in the West. However, stomping out members of ISIS also comes at the cost of civilian life. In sealing a Saudi Arms deal, the Canadian government has also opened up the opportunity for weaponry to fall into the hands of ISIS, due to their financial connections to Saudi royalty. Where do we draw the line? And do the ends – wiping out a terrorist faction – justify the means – loss of civilian life?

Though the subject matter of the afternoon was dark and often uncomfortable, Bourrie took a series of questions from the audience after the event that presented a somewhat positive outlook for the future. At an audience member’s suggestion, Bourrie spoke about the importance of engaging youth at a young age. By integrating young people into the welcoming communities that come with activities like sports, outdoor adventure, working with our hands, and improvisational theatre, we lower the chances of young people, especially second-generation Canadians, feeling disenfranchised from a country that might not always meet their expectations.

How incredibly common these questions are in our daily human interactions!

On the opening night of the Ottawa International Writer’s Festival, three authors of markedly different origins came together in an intimate space within Christ Church Cathedral to discuss place, identity, and belonging in their own works of fiction. Paul Lynch, Abdourahman Waberi, and Carol Daniels each read a passage from one of their novels in turn. Each author’s appearance and presence was as distinct as the style and voice of their writing. Yet, as the evening progressed, the traces of a common impetus emerged between the three artists and their works.

First to read was Paul Lynch, from his much acclaimed novel The Black Snow. In a steady and captivating rhythm, he delivered potent, eloquent, and cleanly crafted prose. In the story of Irish emigrant Barnabas Kane, Lynch has woven what he hopes will be a myth for the current generation; a myth through which readers may come to sympathize with a common crisis of our time: the need to leave one’s mother county. Lynch also explores the unique experience of returning to your place of origin only to find you no longer belong, to be regarded as a “local stranger” by those who once knew you.

Abdourahman Waberi’s In the United States of Africa is a radically different novel, but Waberi too is seeking to affect the reader’s perspective. Waberi, though raised in Djibouti, was a denizen of France for much of his life. As years passed, Waberi grew tired of people failing to see past the image of an African immigrant (even – he claims –when he started saying he was from Normandy). He fondly describes his novel as a work of philosophy which evolved, at least in part, in reaction to these attitudes. Spritely and satirical, his philosophical fiction reverses the fortunes of Africa and the Western World to create “a whole new geography; a whole new world view” (as our host Neil Wilson so wonderfully put it). Waberi intentionally uses the language of story-telling to invite readers into this new world view; he believes people respond to stories better than they do preaching.

Just as Lynch and Waberi provide unique lenses for readers, Carol Daniels is no exception with her novel Bearskin Diary. Daniels hopes her novel will afford readers a glimpse at common experiences in the lives of many indigenous peoples. Daniels, of Cree and Chipewyan descent, intimately understands how our sense of belonging can be dramatically affected by society’s perceptions of our origins (origins that extend beyond where we are born to whom we are descended from). With edge and honesty Bearskin Diary tells the story of Sandy, “the only First Nations child in a town of white people1”.

There is a common motivation in these artists’ works I am sure you have noted. Lynch, I think, best expressed the reason for it. Writers, he believes, often live with a sense of not belonging, of feeling that their perspectives and opinions do not quite match those of their families, their communities, or their cultures. Yet, when you sit down to write, you inevitably find that your family, your culture, your local context, are all undeniably part of you. Embracing this, each author draws inspiration from his or her own origins and belonging, welcoming readers to immerse themselves in a differing perspective, to understand someone else’s origins, to further explore experiences of belonging and identity.

Origins are very often touchstones for our reading of another person’s identity. Everyone has a beginning, and beginnings are not all the same, so our individual origins become a basis for comparison. From our differences as well as our similarities we seek to discern the foundational palettes, the base colours of each other’s character. Individually, in the daily babble and flow of our interior lives, the questions What are my origins? and Where do I belong? may surface separately, but we will find that the answer to one rather reliably has bearing on the other.

A church whose roots reach back to the early 19th century seems a more than appropriate setting for a discussion of historical writing. It is a blessedly mild Saturday evening in April, and a large crowd is eager to hear from three of Canada’s most esteemed writers of fiction, to learn about what the concept of time has meant to their writing.

Stephen Brockwell presents us with an introduction to the historical novel, a genre that goes back to The Iliad. He wonders why we as readers are so interested with the past, musing on a few possible answers. For him, historical fiction may represent an illusion of the so-called golden age, serve as a way for us to reflect on the past, or lastly, provide a vessel for us to criticize what we have come from. The answer is likely to be a combination of all three.

Each guest is introduced briefly, a daunting task considering their combined honours. First we meet Katherine Govier, a much-lauded author and chair of the Writers’ Trust of Canada. Her latest novel, The Three Sisters Bar & Hotel takes place in early twentieth-century Banff, a setting rife with interesting characters, or as she describes it, a ‘novel begging to happen.’ Katherine is brief, explaining that she tends to frame her historical works with beginnings and endings that are grounded in the present. The excerpt she chooses to read is equal parts charming and atmospheric. She captures the voice of her main character, a poacher-turned-trail guide, with expert precision.

Next is Daniel Poliquin, a novelist, translator and recipient of the Order of Canada. His latest novel, The Angel’s Jig, tells a story set in New Brunswick in a time long after the abolishment of slavery when orphans and the elderly poor could be auctioned off into indentured servitude. He goes into greater detail regarding his process, explaining that he views his works not as histories, but as stories. He cautions that writers must be careful to avoid anachronisms in their historical writing, especially when it comes to language. Language hides ideology, he warns, citing Hollywood’s tendency to push American ideology on otherwise historical settings. His excerpt is brief and light, despite the subject matter. His main character Fidèle appears somewhat ambivalent towards his servitude, and has a wry but simple sense of humour. Fidèle’s voice, more than anything else, effectively transports the reader to an entirely foreign time and place.

Lastly, the audience is introduced to writer Alissa York, a Giller Prize nominee for her 2007 novel Effigy. She speaks the least, offering up only that her books require an exhaustive amount of research. She explains that she must be fascinated with a subject matter before deciding to write about it. Her latest novel, The Naturalist, is set in the Amazon partly because of Alissa’s deep interest in the river. What she lacks in introduction is more than made up for when Alissa reads her excerpt. It is a scene in which her characters are winding their way along the vast river to collect live specimens. Alissa creates a world that breathes and comes to life. With a narration the borders on omniscient, the specific voice of her characters is harder to pinpoint, but it isn’t necessary, the audience is spellbound regardless.

Stephen Brockwell returns to the stage to lead a round of questions, which range from each authors representation of time to each authors use of nature as a framework. He is a practiced interviewer, building upon previous queries to dig deeper and elicit a more layered response.

By the end of the night, three authors of history occupy the stage, representing a collection of stories that span centuries. Each has deftly given a voice to the past and brought to life the dead and forgotten for a new audience. T.S. Eliot wrote: “Time present and time past/Are both perhaps present in time future.” It isn’t hard to see our authors as commanders of all three.

The questions from the audience began with
a strike to the heart: “should there be a limit to forgiveness and empathy?”
Posed to three authors on the first night of the Spring 2016 Ottawa
International Writers Festival, the woman’s question evoked a passionate
response: “empathy is not absolution”; to seek understanding does not have to
lead to forgiveness. The theme of this third event of the evening was “radical
empathy”, a common thread running through the works of Sara Baume (Spill Simmer Falter Wither), Sunil Yapa
(Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a
Fist), and Joan Crate (Black Apple).
Baume, Yapa, and Crate’s novels and characters were vastly different, as the
audience would soon realize, ranging from a lonely man and his dog in Ireland
to seven perspectives of one day during the 1999 WTO Seattle protests to a Blackfoot
woman who grew up in the Canadian residential school system. All, however,
explored the idea of deep loneliness, empathy, and humanity deprived.

To situate the packed room at Christ
Church Cathedral, each author read a short excerpt from their novels. There is
something special about storytellers being the ones to breath life into their
own words, and this night was no exception. In a soft Irish lilt, Baume spoke
in the voice of Ray, a man in his fifties, as he talked to his sole companion:
his dog. Yunil followed, and we heard the thoughts of seventeen-year-old Victor
as he gets caught up in the brutality of the chaotic anti-globalisation
protests. Last was Crate, who introduced us to Mother Grace, the troubled
Mother Superior in charge of St Mark’s Residential School, and one of her
charges, a seven-year-old Blackfoot girl re-named Rose-Marie by the system.

After the three readings, the authors
joined Artistic Director Sean Wilson on stage to go deeper into the concept of
radical empathy and the creation of their characters. The consequences of
compassion, the fragility of the human life, and simple weariness were key
topics pondered, and the authors, particularly Yunil and Crate, emphasized the
importance of having no intentional villain to the process of writing empathy.
To write from the perspectives of police during a violent protest and a Roman
Catholic nun who was complicit in the vile residential school system was a
challenge for Yunil and Crate, but they recognized the complexities of each and
were determined to better understand the different perspectives.

The
difference between loneliness and solitude was also considered. A young child
cruelly ripped from her family, a motherless boy estranged from his father, a
crippled old man and his equally crippled dog seeking refuge from damaging
loneliness – and storytellers writing in solitude, not quite lonely, comforted
by the characters they put on paper, and yet still alone.

In
the comfortable cathedral room, the community gathered was far from lonely, a
group full of different textures of people with their own silent stories. Contemplating
the limits of forgiveness and the power empathy brought a sombreness to the
crowd. With the smell of stale coffee lingering and the soft rustle of
neighbours fidgeting, the authors assured the concerned woman that yes, there
is a limit to forgiveness, and that their stories were not intending to say we
ought to forgive those who inflicted grave harm upon others. But one cannot
help but wonder – perhaps radical empathy means there is no limit to
forgiveness.

Friday evening's celebration of short stories at Ottawa's Christ Church Cathedral brought together what host Susan Birkwood called "stories that dealt with the dual nature of human experiences: longing, and loss, but also hope and love." The Long and Short of It, as the event was aptly named, delved into the microcosm of these emotions through the individual experiences of characters from seemingly different strata of society.

The evening's first guest writer, Kateri Akiwenzie-Damm, set the tone for the exploration of such contradicting and powerful human emotions in her latest publication, The Stone Collection, where she explores the idea of how even the most marginalized members of our society are able to transcend the darkest of human experiences, despair and alienation, and how ultimately their survival is possible through a deep-rooted sense of heritage, community and above all, humour. As Akiwenzie-Damm explained the inspiration for her stories, the “dark, heavy, subject matter” reflects the daily lives of Indigenous communities, including the tragic realities of Canada's missing and murdered Indigenous women. In the excerpt she read from Calcified Horses, a story set in Ottawa, the audience was able to obtain a glimpse into a life inspired by Minnie Sutherland, her story made powerful by Akiwenzie-Damm's juxtaposition of the character's inner strength in defiance of her perceived vulnerability.

The evening's exploration of the themes of loss and hope continued with Kris Bertin's The Eviction Process, a short story dealing with the gentrification of a neighbourhood on the outskirts of Halifax. Bertin's chosen excerpt from this story captured the forceful nature of his writing, direct and honest, very similar to the characters' will to overcome transition even if this might represent a sense of loss. For the characters, continuity and belonging are then sought through the more permanent bonds found in relationships. Chris Bertin's own interest in questions of human agency and whether we actually have any control in our lives placed his character's experiences in The Eviction Process in this greater context of the arbitrary or transitory elements often found in life.

From a neighbourhood in greater Halifax, the audience was then taken further east to Ireland, the homeland of Danielle McLaughlin and also the setting for her short story collection in Dinosaurs on Other Planets. Here we came across Kate, a middle-aged woman caught in the midst of an existential crisis where the rest of the world seems to continue to move on its axis while she is at a standstill. It is only when the possibility of the unknown could offer something greater than herself like the idea of dinosaurs on other planets, does Kate feel a sense of hope in finding her place in this world. As McLaughlin mused about this idea during the question and answer period, she wondered at the possibility of bridging the distance between our world and others. This notion of the will to find a connection with different eras and places is strongly hinted in the title story with the element of the discovery of an animal skull, taken to be the fossil of a dinosaur by Kate's grandson, the idea for which had come from McLaughlin's own experience with her son.

By the evening's end the audience had been taken on a journey from a familiar story setting to others that were more distant. Despite this, each story was able to bridge the geographical distances between the characters as a recurrent theme was found. Perhaps the human experience is to be full of contradictions, but it is the will to hope in defiance of a darker reality that makes us transcend this truth.

After a sadly unanticipated foray through Ottawa constructions detours, I was, as always, delighted to see the blue Writers Festival banner standing tall in the evening sun on Friday. Not only did the banner direct me to the correct location (which was a concern in light of my being new to the venue), but it also served as a reminder of the delightful energy and discussion of the Writers Festival events.

Friday’s event at Christ Church Cathedral was hosted by festival social media manager Nina Jane Drystek, and began with a reading by Nadia Bozak, an assistant professor of English at Carleton University. Bozak read from her upcoming publication Thirteen Shells, which is a series of short stories that can be read individually or as seen with a unifying arc throughout.

Importantly, Bozak’s reading included a brief musical interlude, wherein it became clear that parenthood can serve as an excellent comfort buffer when it comes to singing Raffi songs you’ve (perhaps regrettably) written into your short story collection. It was clear that everyone in the room knew precisely to when in history Bozak was referring in light of the songs referenced in her work. Bozak later explained that pop culture serves as an important piece of the memory landscape in her work.

Second on the docket at Friday’s event was Farzana Doctor, a part-time psychotherapist and author based out of Toronto. Doctor was reading from her recent work All Inclusive, providing selections from two different characters. Not dissimilar from Bozak’s work, Doctor also used apropos musical selections to contextualize her stories in time. Hearing Duran Duran or Katy Perry will make fairly clear to a listener what time in history the story takes place in. Despite the featuring of music, Doctor commented that she needs to be reminded that listening to music is good; she finds it helpful in marking characters in time but frequently forgets its goodness for her own real life.

Last but certainly not least in Friday’s event was Christine Dwyer Hickey, an Irish playwright gracing Ottawa with her presence by way of Culture Ireland. Dwyer Hickey was reading from The Lives of Women, a story which has similarities to Bozak’s Thirteen Shells, likely due less to happenstance and more to excellent festival scheduling. Dwyer Hickey read a selection that the audience related well to, especially her depiction of a nosy elderly neighbour lady who hardly gave the protagonist a chance to think during a phone call. Most of us, I imagine, have talked to this particular neighbour lady at least once in our lives (or perhaps this lady is our grandmother).

A great concluding question to this event’s discussion was regarding how to go about doing the work of writing. Dwyer Hickey’s advice was to “sneak it up on yourself”; more specifically, to start by writing thirty minutes per day—no more, no less. She made the important observation that, even if you aren’t physically writing, the act or process of writing still continues as you go about your day. Hopefully, other attendees of this event were as encouraged as I was—not only to write more, but also to read the work of these talented authors.

The spring
edition of the Ottawa International Writers Festival was off to an auspicious
start with a standing-room only reception at Social in the Byward Market for Hugh Segal’s
book launch. Segal has been a respected public figure for many decades, and left
the then burning house of the Senate to become the Master of Massey College at the University of Toronto, a position
he still holds.

His new book is
part of a series by Dundurn Press, called Point of View, and is titled Two
Freedoms: Canada’s Global Future.The eponymous dual liberties detailed by Segal are: the
freedom from want, and the freedom from fear.

In a brief but
insightful conversation with Jennifer Ditchburn, the Editor-in-Chief of Policy
Options/Options Politiques, Segal touched on a number of issues that believes
are necessary for Canada to address if it is truly to be “back” on the world
stage. All these issues hinge on the basic foundation of having material
well-being and security.

There were
intimations of his preference for devolution—outlined in his previous book The
Right Balance—that
NGOs on the ground, and Canada’s diplomatic corps in the field should be the
first actors to engage. He favourably mentioned Canada’s working with an
organization in Malaysia, Sisters in Islam, which seeks to balance shari’ah law
with common law within a democracy. He also pointed out the benefits of
organizations like the Commonwealth of Learning, housed in Burnaby, BC as an excellent
tool in using technology to promote education, and how it was useful more
recently in Pakistan. Not dealing with these smaller agents and channelling
funds instead to state actors was derisively referred to as “Auditor
Generalitis”; a risk-averse posture to simplify domestic book-keeping.

Segal also has
numbers. 0.7% of foreign aid, the Pearsonian ideal, and 2% on defence. The
latter includes a 100,000 regular force army, with 50,000 reservists. When
Ditchburn probed as to what Canada was to do with such a force, Segal’s
explanation was primarily to do with the capacity to deploy for humanitarian
missions. It would have been good to have him talk more about combat roles, and
if they were effective and relevant roles for Canada to play, as it did in
Afghanistan. Further, his thoughts on how this could all be paid for were vague
at best. It’s hard to imagine this policy, if taken, not having an significant impact on taxes, no matter how gradually it’s rolled
out.

A line of
questioning that could’ve been elucidated further is what appears to be his realpolitik: his freedom from fear is
held in tension with the balance of power in regions. So while there are allies
who fully share our values, there are others who only partially do­­—Saudi
Arabia, Turkey, Russia, for example. It was fairly tough to accede to Segal’s
calling Turkey “a loyal member of NATO,” while keeping in mind its thin-skinned
leader whose tyrannical tendencies extend beyond borders, and its double-minded approach to security.

Finally, the
question always remains as to how Canada can preach to the world, while there
are mounting problems at home. Segal states that for all its problems, Canada
still has a healthy self-criticism and an independent judiciary that, for
instance, ruled in favour of Métis and non-status Indians. We can
walk and chew gum at the same time; domestic responsibilities need not make us
shrink from our international obligations.

Oh, in case you
were wondering, like Ditchburn did at the end, Segal is in favour of the
current government’s approach to reforming the Senate and hopes that they
succeed. Of course, if everyone were a Hugh Segal, reform wouldn’t be needed.

The questions from the audience began with
a strike to the heart: “should there be a limit to forgiveness and empathy?”
Posed to three authors on the first night of the Spring 2016 Ottawa
International Writers Festival, the woman’s question evoked a passionate
response: “empathy is not absolution”; to seek understanding does not have to
lead to forgiveness. The theme of this third event of the evening was “radical
empathy”, a common thread running through the works of Sara Baume (Spill Simmer Falter Wither), Sunil Yapa
(Your Heart is a Muscle the Size of a
Fist), and Joan Crate (Black Apple).
Baume, Yapa, and Crate’s novels and characters were vastly different, as the
audience would soon realize, ranging from a lonely man and his dog in Ireland
to seven perspectives of one day during the 1999 WTO Seattle protests to a Blackfoot
woman who grew up in the Canadian residential school system. All, however,
explored the idea of deep loneliness, empathy, and humanity deprived.

To situate the packed room at Christ
Church Cathedral, each author read a short excerpt from their novels. There is
something special about storytellers being the ones to breath life into their
own words, and this night was no exception. In a soft Irish lilt, Baume spoke
in the voice of Ray, a man in his fifties, as he talked to his sole companion:
his dog. Yunil followed, and we heard the thoughts of seventeen-year-old Victor
as he gets caught up in the brutality of the chaotic anti-globalisation
protests. Last was Crate, who introduced us to Mother Grace, the troubled
Mother Superior in charge of St Mark’s Residential School, and one of her
charges, a seven-year-old Blackfoot girl renamed Rose-Marie by the system.

After the three readings, the authors
joined Artistic Director Sean Wilson on stage to go deeper into the concept of
radical empathy and the creation of their characters. The consequences of
compassion, the fragility of the human life, and simple weariness were key
topics pondered, and the authors, particularly Yunil and Crate, emphasized the
importance of having no intentional villain to the process of writing empathy.
To write from the perspectives of police during a violent protest and a Roman
Catholic nun who was complicit in the vile residential school system was a
challenge for Yunil and Crate, but they recognized the complexities of each and
were determined to better understand the different perspectives.

The
difference between loneliness and solitude was also considered. A young child
cruelly ripped from her family, a motherless boy estranged from his father, a
crippled old man and his equally crippled dog seeking refuge from damaging
loneliness – and storytellers writing in solitude, not quite lonely, comforted
by the characters they put on paper, and yet still alone.

In
the comfortable cathedral room, the community gathered was far from lonely, a
group full of different textures of people with their own silent stories. Contemplating
the limits of forgiveness and the power empathy brought a sombreness to the
crowd. With the smell of stale coffee lingering and the soft rustle of
neighbours fidgeting, the authors assured the concerned woman that yes, there
is a limit to forgiveness, and that their stories were not intending to say we
ought to forgive those who inflicted grave harm upon others. But one cannot
help but wonder – perhaps radical empathy means there is no limit to
forgiveness.

Though residential schools were one of the biggest systems
that disconnected Indigenous people from their communities, there are many more
systems and situation that fractured young Indigenous identities and cultural
ties, such as the Sixties Scoop. In her debut novel Bearskin Diary, Carol Daniels applies journalistic storytelling to
explore complexities young Indigenous Canadians face growing up away from their communities
and their struggle to reconnect with their heritage.

Sandy was swooped out of the arms of her
mother as a newborn in the Sixties Scoop and fortunate enough to be adopted by a Ukrainian
family in a small Saskatchewan town. Despite her luck of finding a loving
family Sandy’s childhood and youth is tainted by the racism of her community. These
memories, scattered throughout the novel, do not spare the harsh reality of
racism and are painful to relive for both Sandy and the reader. From childhood
insults to being chased out of a school dance, her difference is distinctly
tied to her skin colour, something she begins to resent, developing a
heartbreaking habit of trying to scrub the colour from her skin.

In spite of this racism Sandy’s Baba encourages her learn about
and draw strength from her hertiage through books about Indigenous culture
and history in Canada. Through this education, Sandy develops an academic
understanding of her roots. It is not until she pursues her career as a
journalist in Regina and then Saskatoon and is tasked with and driven to put a spotlight on Indigenous stories that Sandy has real contact with the
community she longs for.

Sandy’s desire to know her Indigenous culture is contrasted with
that of her Metis lover, Blue Greyes - raised in the city by a single white
mother. Like Sandy, he grew up apart from his Indigenous culture and strived
for assimilation, but he never grew out of it. Sandy meets him as he is
training to become a police officer, and though he thinks that he might be able
to do some good as the only indigenous man on the force, Blue’s pursuit of a
career in law enforcement is another way for him to blend-in, to command
respect from white and Indigenous people alike. Sandy’s desire to belong to her
community and Blue’s need to blend in is a wedge in their relationship.

Reading Bearskin Diary,
I could not help but compare Sandy’s character and pursuit to understand her
Indigenous culture to that of Agnes in Margot Kane’s acclaimed one-woman show Moonlodge (revived this year by the
National Arts Centre’s ensemble member Paula-Jean Prudat). Agnes, like Sandy,
was forcefully taken from her family and adopted. While her family situation was
terser than Sandy’s both women set out to recover their heritage and find identity and belonging at the powwow.

In Moonlodge, Agnes’s
road trip culminates in her attendance at a powwow where she is recognised as sister.
For Sandy, the powwow is a stepping stone on her path to claiming her identity.
It is at the powwow that she is welcomed into the community and realises her
need to be a part of it. An outsider in many ways, she is invited to the powwow
by her friend and cameraman, Kyle. Though a white man, Kyle was adopted by Amos
as brother when he sought healing for his drinking and depression through Indigenous
practices. Kyle’s adoption by the Indigenous community contrasts Sandy’s
adoption as child and paints a fuller portrait of Indigenous culture and the
quest for healing.

Sandy’s spiritual growth at the powwow supports her personal
growth as a journalist. Welcomed into the community, Sandy finds the strength
to help break the community’s silence around the sexual assault of young women,
and breaks her career as a leading Indigenous woman journalist.

Bearskin Diary spares no details and explores the
complexities of what it means to be torn from your community and the challenges
of healing this wound. Though Sandy is the heroine, Daniels' journalistic
storytelling style presents multiple perspectives, from the heroine to the
criminal, from elder to agnostic, telling a broader story about life in
Saskatchewan, and Canada as a whole.

Often when a book sets out to explore
the aftermath of historical events or acts of terror it tries to answer the
“why.” Why did they do it? Why then? Why this way? But in exploring the 1984
Air India bombing in her new novel, All Inclusive, Farzana Doctor takes a different approach.

At the heart of Doctor’s novel are the
stories of Ameera and her father Azeez who are separated the day Azeez boards
Air India flight 182 on his way home to India. The chapters switch back and
forth between Ameera and Azeez’s perspective; two storylines which themselves are
on a crash course.

Azeez’s first few chapters trace his
last days with the living.Two days before
the bombing
he meets Nora and engages in his first and last sexual encounter, which results in Nora's conception. The next day Azeez
is too nervous to call Nora before he gets on his plan and he leaves without
giving her any way to reach him.

As Azeez settles into the plane and makes
friends with other passengers there is fleeting moment of hope that this might
not be that Air India plane, but there
is no escaping history here. Instead of the flight ending Azeez’s story however,
it is only the beginning. As Azeez’s body sinks into the sea, never to be found,
his spirit remains tied to earth.

"It was liberating to write about the
afterlife," says Doctor. "This is an arena which allows the imagination to roam
because none of us have any idea what happens next. I blended Islamic ideas (we
believe in angels and some of us believe that spirits of ancestors are with us
long after they pass) but I found myself 'making up' the rest and enjoying the
process."

The imagination of the afterlife is one
of the highlights of the novel. Azeez is granted carte blanche and is able to
see and hear everything as he tries to help his family overcome his death and
carry on with their lives. Azeez, as a human, was still a boy. In spiritual limbo
he grows wiser, more compassionate and supportive. Azeez’s living-self pales in
comparison to the ghost he becomes.

Ameera contrasts her father in this
perspective. Her character is so alive that she feels like a best friend. While her father takes a spiritual journey towards
self-discovery, she engages in a sexual one.

Ameera has escaped from her life in
Hamilton to work as a tour operator at a resort in Huatulco, Mexico. Here she finds her true sexual identity. Deciding that it is safer
to sleep with resort guest who are couples, (they are more discreet) Ameera embraces the freedom that
comes with being a unicorn. The only problem: she has to keep it secret or risk
putting her job and a promotion in jeopardy.

Throughout the novel, two strong
stories evolve: Azeez’s driven by spiritual fulfillment and Ameera’s by sexual
desire. "These are two aspects of ourselves that humans find baffling," says
Doctor. "With both, we might deny, undervalue, suppress, or not question our
beliefs and values. The two characters are contrasting figures with these
aspects; Ameera lacks spiritual development, but allows her sexuality to be
expansive, while Azeez’s process requires him to grow spiritually, while
remaining an (almost) virgin."

Slowly, Azeez and Ameera find each
other, Azeez with the help of his spirit guides and Ameera with the help of a
lesbian couple she meets at the resort. The spiritual and the sexual journeys
of the two characters complement each other, and Ameera and Azeez help the
other move on to the next stage of their (after) life.

Through the relationship of the ghost
and the living, Doctor emphasises the importance of looking back on our history
and listening to the stories it has to tell. Instead of querying the causes of
the Air India bombing, Doctors explores how we learn from the past.

The Air India bombing doesn’t feature
prominently in the canon of Canadian literature, and in many ways is a ghost
itself. In All Inclusive, Doctor
crafts a modern ghost story that emphasises an open mind when it comes to
history and a focus on its outcomes rather than its cause.